House Eriador
by Phaanja
Summary: Two sisters of the King's Isle shipped to Winterfell: one to marry Robb Stark, the other to cause mischief wherever her sister goes. Follow their journey across Westeros, from King's Landing to The Wall. Tyrion and Arya awesomeness, slightly AU. WIP; Robb/OC, Jon/OC
1. Chapter 1

_**Honore**_

"Soren! By all gods, HURRY!" The command echoed through the freshly-emptied halls of King's Isle followed by a sharp _thud!_ as a heavyweight boot with a metal heel clamored in the direction of the voice. "Hey! That could have killed me!"

"Gods curse me for missing," was the only response Honore Eriador of King's Isle received from her sister who seemed to think she had all the time in the world to gather her belongings. Honore's drawn-out breath escaped her lips just as her sister escaped her commands. With a heavy gait and an endless list of colorful swears directed at nothing in particular and everything she could think of, the eldest daughter of Lord Domitian departed from the chambers of her lost-cause sister.

Although she donned her circlet nestled in her intricately-braided tresses, some loose curls, with the help of the sea breeze, found their way into Honore's eyes. She irritably swatted at them just as her already-tiring feet guided the girl of 24 years outside of the castle, where the Lord of King's Isle was awaiting she and what would have been her sister at her side, but alas, Soren remained in her chambers wasting precious time. Donning a calm façade, Honore stole a calming breath and approached her father.

The man's shadow met Honore's feet before she was within arm's reach of him – he was nearly as tall as their great friend and King, Robert Baratheon – his own darkened blonde curls, Hono noticed, were whisking into his squinted eyes. At the sight of only one daughter, Dom's eyebrows quirked in a questioning angle and before he opened his mouth to ask where his second daughter was, Hono answered.

"She is, of course, residing in her chambers doing gods-know-what," Honore complained. She was well aware that she was too mature to grumble, but based on the day's events so far, (beginning with an awakening from Soren's rotund white kitten, Stella, purring directly into her ear canal and kneading viciously at her cheek, having her bodice laced beyond too-tight by a nearly-deaf lady's maid, walking up and down, back and forth, and to and fro carrying her belongings to the ship, and lastly, being granted responsibility of her 21-year old sister,) Honore was too tired to give a rat's arse who heard her single complaint. Her father's sigh was accompanied by a roll of his golden eyes.

"Very well. You can go get the last of your things, I'll get your sister. We leave before daybreak," Dom planted a gentle kiss on Hono's stress-creased forehead and pursued Soren's chambers. She wondered what her father did to eliminate Soren's procrastination.

_Perhaps shouting? No. _

_Perhaps a slap? No, Father never hits women. _

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… _

Honore's thoughts were interrupted by a feminine throat clearing behind her. She turned and was instantly blinded by the sickly-orange sun seeping lazily behind the mountains. It reminded her of the egg yolk falling through her sister's ever-busy fingers as she fed Stella on the foot of Honore's bed one morning. Honore made sure to throw an egg right at Soren's stupidly-snickering face. Once again, Honore's thoughts were interrupted by the annoyance that was throat-clearing. _Disgusting._

She blinked once, to rid the sun's remaining silhouette behind her eyes. Only her peripheral sight would be available for the next few minutes. _Brilliant. _From the uncomfortable use of a side-glance, Hono made out her father's recent wife, Elene, who had approached with some way to make Honore's day worse.

"Yes, my Lady?" Honore greeted with a curtsy and a forced grin. Elene had requested that the two daughters of her husband address her formally.

"Help your brother," was all Elene said, and yet, Hono couldn't help but feel infuriated. Her condescending tone, her crooked nose in the air, and the deeply troubling fact that the woman had the ability to command her daughter-by-marriage repelled Hono so easily that she scurried away as readily as she could once the last syllable of her command left Elene's lips.

Although he had a witch for a mother, Jamett was a very favored family member of Honore's. The boy was born five years past and had never seen a winter. His hair was not blonde and his eyes were a standard color, unlike trueborn Eriadors. Honore, Soren, Domitian, Zelde (the late wife of Dom,) and all the descendants of House Eriador had unruly manes of blonde springs that corkscrewed in every direction and an uncommon eye tint. For example, Honore and Dom were born with deep golden eyes – "like golden dragons!" the King would often shout with a chuckle – while Soren was born with pale eyes, just the slightest tint of red behind a mist. Honore could not remember her mother's eyes, as she was only a toddler when the life left Zelde's body. However, Soren claims to remember their mother's eyes, but she would never enlighten her sister without a price, often 5 million dragons, another kitten, or a handsome prince to fulfill all her desires. Dom had never spoken of Zelde, with exempt of only three words: "she loved us." 15 years from the death of Zelde, Dom had remarried a Southern woman he had met while travelling with Ned Stark and the King. Elene and Jamett had hair and eyes of burnt wheat: black and harsh. Although the two shared dusky, piercing eyes, Elene's were cruel and ever-criticising towards her husband's daughters, while Jamett's, although harsh in color, were soft, observant, and loving. Often Honore found herself wondering how the wench that was Elene could raise a boy as loving and honest as Jamett.

Three taps, each one second apart upon her younger brother's chamber door identified herself as a sibling - the three would often sneak out of their chambers in the night and explore, sleep with one another, or to simply enjoy the company of one another. The light, quickened footfalls of King's Isle's heir were heard on the other side. Honore's grin was spread across her face before she was aware of it.

"Hono!" was the only peep she heard before the 5-year old barreled into his sister's torso, gentle enough not to knock the wind from her delicate lungs.

"Good evening to you too, Jame," Honore greeted with a chuckle bouncing behind her words. The two were interrupted by the grumblings of an irritated Soren trudging past them with her leather case and father behind her. Her featured were nowhere to be seen past the thick blanket of honey curls that tented in the center every time she exhaled. "Looks like someone faced Father's wrath," Honore jested as she pushed Jamett into his room to avoid a demolition from their sister. "Let's be sure to avoid her for the next few hours, yes?" Her golden eyes met those of crow's wings.

"But we'll be on the boat soon, Hono, we can't be away from her," Jamett stated.

Jamett's words echoed in her ears,

"_We'll be on the boat soon…" _

_The boat that will take me from my friends and family for the rest of my days. Soon. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: hello guys! I totally forgot to A/Nify the first chapter. **

**The internet in my house doesn't work, I had to upload the previous chapter on my school's computer. It's quite awkward logging onto ff .net when there's an elderly woman watching my every move. Perhaps it was my big black bag that I carry around for my art class – she might think it's a weapon or something (yo, that class ends at 5:30, by the way,) just all kinds of horrible. **

**Oh yeah, I'm not here to talk about my classes (although I'd love to whine all day about my mild burdens,) I'm here to talk about the story! :D **

**First thing's first: Honore's name is pronounced "O/Un-ore-ay" say it with me, "o/un-ore-ay" perhaps I'll make a soundcloud doc of myself recording it. **

**Jamett's name: I realised halfway through my outline and chapter 1 that Jamett looks like "Jamie," and I described the Eriadors similarly to the Lannisters. Only happy coincidences – hopefully no incest in House Eriador… hopefully….. *mischievous eyebrow quirk* I took the name James and thought "hmmm" for a good long time before "-ett" made its way into my mind. Yay! Jamett! **

**Dom: named after one of the 12 Caesars, Domitian, for no particular reason. Just opened the nearest book and used the second name I saw (first was Nero, no way I was gonna use that) ;D**

**Hope some of you Tolkien fans recognize House **_**Eriador**_** :D :D :D **

**What else, what else? Oh! For those of you kind and awesome enough to follow my other story, I'll get back to FPTE, I have ¾ of ch 13 written out, I just frickin' don't like the next part of the story. Ah well, it's for the best. Perhaps this story will help motivate me with getting back on track. I'm sorry, my friends and followers ****. **

**I hate to be the cliché author that begs for reviews but I'm gonna anyway. Let me know how you like it! Or just tell me how your day is, what your favorite color is, who you'd like to see in the story (I plan on some Stella/Dire Wolf – not telling you whose Dire Wolf, although I wouldn't be surprised if you've already figured it out – interaction). I'm using my own kitten as inspiration :D **

**Anyway, I'll end this 395-word Author's Note with, enjoy! **

_**Soren**_**, **_**King's Landing, 1 week later. **_

"One, two, three!"

The five-year old's final count marked the initiation of downing as many flagons as Soren could in five minutes. The girl stood at the King's table with two others. She took no glances at her competitors and only focused on the sweet sting of her home's exported Dragonleaf beer that found a snug spot in the pit of her belly.

"Four minutes, 30 seconds!"

_One down. More. Faster. _

With a toss of her mug, Soren blindly snatched a replacement mug and sealed her lips with the alcohol. She could hear the occasional snorts, gulps, laughter, and satisfied exhalation from her two neighbors. She made no such sounds, but focused on counting each _thud_ she heard to keep track of her competition. Another mug down, another mug replaced. Another _thud_. She was tied with the man on her right and ahead of the man on her left by one.

_Hurry, hurry, hurry. _

Soren was well aware of the consequences of swallowing mouthfuls of ale without releasing the extra air from her mouth, but considering the state of the competition, Soren needed to eliminate as much ale as she could so she began to chug her drinks, doubling her speed.

Mug down, mug replaced, two gulps, _thud!_

_Yes! _

The man on her right was behind her by a quarter of a mug.

"30 seconds left!" Jamett's voice resounded through her ears. She focused on his voice rather than the remaining contents of her current mug as well as her last mug. Jamett, Soren noticed, had somewhat of a lisp. He said his "s" with his tongue rather than his teeth like she did. The boy also said the "t" in "thirty" as a "d" while the "t" in "left" was hard.

_Hm._

"Time's up!"

_Just as I thought. "S" with his teeth. _

Soren smirked and stood along with her two competitors: King Baratheon on her right, her favorite competition, and the stable master, a fat, red man called Gher. He was a better drinker than her father, but it seemed as though he was only there to make Soren and Robert look good. Before she could count her mugs, her brother's voice beckoned her attention.

"Third place: Gher, the stable master, with 3 ½ mugs!" Applaud.

_Eh. _

"Second place, with 5 mugs," Soren's heart raced. "King Robert!"

_Yes! Yes! _

Cheers and awe. Soren's smile would have made the Grinning Goat of her wet nurse's tales envious. "And first place: my sister, Soren Eriador, with 6 mugs!" Cheers and a sloppy, wet kiss on each cheek from each competitor.

_I would have done more, but I only had six…_

"Look at you, girl, six mugs, _six!_" The King mesmerized, "you make an old man proud," Robert's cheeks were flushed from the room's heat and his excessive drinking. Soren was sure she looked similar. With a chuckle and a pat to the King's back, Soren excused herself from the dining hall, ran down the hallway, and heaved the contents of her stomach into a nearby plant's soil.

_Sweet relief. _

Wiping her mouth, Soren looked at the plant. "It's good for you. Dragonleaf makes you grow. You're welcome," she breathed to the plant. The girl was correct, dragonleaves were known to boost growth – the reason she and her father were so tall. Honore was shorter. She would hardly drink the stuff, preferring wine over ale, as it was "more ladylike to drink wine," Soren merely scoffed in her sister's face and proceeded to chug her ale with a wink and a burp to Honore. The winner of tonight's competition smiled at her reminiscence as she stumbled down the hall. She was ever-thankful that her hair was pulled back in who-knows-what style ("as long as it's out of my face," she told the maid when asked what hairstyle she'd like,) for she would have torn out every strand that was in her face out of frustration. Sometimes – or rather, _most _of the time, - curly hair would be an uncontrollable curse from the gods.

Soren hadn't talked very much today, resulting in her mind being packed with witty comments, observations, reminders, and constant sounds, whether it was her heartbeat, the soft bumps of her kitten's paws behind her, nearby conversations, or the wind blowing through the castle. Hardly anyone questioned her silence; for mostly all people that Soren was acquainted with understood that she was incapable of talking at sporadic times. But those who were strangers to her, those that questioned her queer ailment, such as vendors, or men looking for a quick feel-good-for-a-few-dragons would seem offended when she wouldn't answer. Soren did not want to be put off as rude (to the vendors, at least,) so she resorted to carrying a parchment in her pocket at all times explaining her inability to talk.

"_Mute." _Was all that was scrawled in Soren's quite-unladylike chickenscratch. Of course, it wasn't completely true. Tomorrow, Soren's voice would likely return to her and she'd continue pestering her sister.

Tomorrow. The day Soren was to be shipped off without her father, brother, horse, bed, most of her books, and her favorite panting made just for her by sister dearest (it was a painting of Soren displaying her "mute" paper in front of her mouth with a scrawling at the bottom that read, "These days are my favorite days,") both Soren and Honore grouched the most they had all year when their father told Soren that she couldn't take the painting. Alas, their pouting was in vain, and here she stood in King's Landing, without her painting or a place she could call home any longer. Honore and Soren would depart in merely a few hours' time.

_I suppose ought to get some sleep in a comfortable bed, then. _Stella seemed to understand her human's thoughts, for she mewled and stretched her tiny paws on the rose-stained velvet of Soren's dress. Honore chose Soren's dress – rose, to represent House Eriador, and velvet to represent Soren's sex – for the second daughter of Domitian the Humble hardly wore dresses, instead resorting to ash or wine-dyed leather leggings and vests with a simple undershirt. The King was good friends with the Eriadors, and Soren was the second daughter and middle child, so she figured that she had no one to dress for.

"_Don't you want to meet a nice boy, Soren?" _her sister's disapproving tone played in her head like a record and only made her smirk more. Soren's ungraceful feet brought her stumbling upon the chambers that she shared with Jamett, who was already in bed – _right in the middle, that sneak. _The girl put Stella on the bed, where she mewled once more and proceeded to make a nest of the young boy's hair. Soren grinned at the display of innocence in front of her eyes and removed the horrid dress from her body. She would have slept in the nude, but the young human in her bed prevented her from doing so, and accordingly, her undergarment remained on her person. Soren took a last glance at her damned dress, bunched it in a ball, and angled her arm to toss it out the door but when she opened it, a blonde head, a few inches shorter than herself, obstructed Soren's aim. Soren frowned as a question of, _what are you doing there? _

Honore, understanding her sister's facial gestures from years of experience, answered with ease, "I seemingly came to prevent you from discarding one of your only dresses," she wearily responded while striding past her sister into the chambers.

"_Is that all?"_ Soren scribbled on a nearby parchment.

"No, I wanted to sleep with Jamett," Soren only then noticed that Honore held her nightgown in her hands. She also only then realised that tonight would be the last the three would share together. Soren nearly sniffled.

"_Then let us make the best of it, Hono." _

To that, Honore smiled weakly and entered her sister's temporary bed to cuddle with her younger brother for the final time. In the morning, Soren's voice would return to her throat just as her family would return home.

She and her sister were on their own for the first time in their lives.


End file.
